


In Plain Sight

by Smutnug



Series: Juliet [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Perhaps for a few hours she could be less than Juliet, youngest of house Trevelyan, reluctant apostate. And more than the Inquisitor, Her Worship, Herald of Andraste.Grim. Her name was Grim.





	1. Chapter 1

Juliet found herself drawn to the balcony, the warm light spilling from the tavern. The Herald’s Rest, ironically named. She drummed her fingers restlessly on the stone balustrade.

Inquisition soldiers had returned from the Fallow Mire and the atmosphere in Skyhold was one of celebration, a much needed victory after the carnage in Haven. She wished she could be a part of it.

But here she was, their Herald, their Inquisitor. Lonelier than she ever had been in the Ostwick Circle, where at least everyone was more or less in the same boat. Here she was larger than life, a figure of authority at best and worship at worst. What she wouldn't give for a single night of anonymity.

And yet...there had been a taste of it, however brief. A drink with the soldiers, a name not her own. In the towering presence of the Iron Bull, they hadn't even seen her.

She ventured inside, dug to the back of her wardrobe where the mercenary garb still lay. It was more comfortable than her Skyhold tunic, worn in and shapeless. Acting on a sudden impulse she donned the trousers and the loose tunic, the quilted jacket and scarf. Then she worked her hair free of its loose braid, let the brown tresses fall around her shoulders.

She lacked a mirror, but she knew her face well enough - pale, lightly freckled, eyes blue-grey. Nondescript. Most of her followers saw her as nothing more than a shape, an outfit, a symbol. It wasn't often people looked her full in the face these days, and her outing with Bull had shown her how easily she could hide in plain sight if she wished.

Perhaps for a few hours she could be less than Juliet, youngest of house Trevelyan, reluctant apostate. And more than the Inquisitor, Her Worship, Herald of Andraste.

Grim. Her name was Grim.

 

The press of bodies in the tavern was almost unnerving. Since the Conclave she had become used to a distance around her, crowds parting in her presence. Now, anonymous, she pushed through the sea of shoulders and elbows around the door, found herself in a small pocket of empty space by the bar.

This was a terrible idea. Cabot, the bartender, knew her. Who would she talk to? How could she even get a drink without being recognised?

She felt a hand on her shoulder, turned to see a familiar face. Orlesian. Tanner. From Jader, well, near Jader.

“Grim, isn't it? Can I get you a drink?” Relieved, she smiled, nodded.

With a mug of ale in her hand she followed him to a corner of the tavern, the soldiers crowded there shifting to make room, pilfered chairs jammed in around the wooden table. She found herself by the wall, Tanner seated next to her.

He spoke loudly over the tavern din. “Where are you from?”

She spoke, found her voice hoarse, unlike her own. Good. “Free Marches.”

“The Free Marches? Where?”

She shrugged, made a gesture as if to say, “Everywhere.”

He seemed to accept that. His face was freckled, handsome. Youthful, perhaps her own age, eyes a startling blue. More soldiers joined them and they shuffled down until his shoulder and leg were pressed against hers.

It seemed an age since anyone had touched her so casually. She found that her body hungered for more. Her hand itched to move to his thigh, feel the muscled warmth of him. As she watched him speak, laugh, glance at her with an easy smile, her fingers flexed then clenched against her leg.

His hand closed warm over hers and he looked at her, a question in his eyes. She smiled and he relaxed into her, their forced closeness suddenly comfortable. The ale spread a numbness through her limbs and when his thumb traced a slow circle on her wrist, she was taken aback by the answering jolt that ran through her body.

She let the conversation wash over her, content to feel the heat of his thigh pressing against hers, his calloused fingers gripping her hand. Mugs of ale kept appearing in front of her and when it came her turn she fished coins from a purse and pushed them across the table, too tightly packed in the corner to make her own way to the bar. It was perfect.

 

The Herald's Rest was gradually emptying when they made their way out into the courtyard. “Where do the Chargers sleep?” Tanner asked.

Where _did_ the Chargers sleep? So much for knowing the people under her command. She gestured vaguely in the direction of the stable. “Can I walk you there?”

Juliet shook her head. She linked her hands behind her back, leaning against the tavern wall, an unspoken invitation.

“You really don't talk much, do you?”

She smiled up at him, tilted her head back slightly.

He was gentle as he rested his hand on her waist, lowered his face to hers. Their lips met and opened, she drawing his tongue into her mouth, his other hand snaking around her back. She arched into him, their kiss deepening before he reluctantly pulled away, his forehead resting against hers.

“Grim.” He ran a hand through her hair. “What kind of name is that?” She smiled, shrugged. “Will you be here tomorrow night?”

She drew him in for a final kiss and nodded. Why not? He smiled over his shoulder as he left, waved, made his way towards the soldiers’ camp.

She waited until he was out of sight before she crossed the courtyard towards the grand hall.

“When I said you should get to know the people under you, this is not exactly what I meant.” The darkness shifted and a large shape detached itself from the wall.

She froze, suddenly a child again, caught out in the Circle after curfew. “Hello, Bull.”

“Boss.” He was solid, colossal. “You thought this through?”

“Not really.”

He huffed, amused. “So it's...what? Love? Distraction? A warm body?”

She stiffened, fists balled at her sides. “I don't have to explain myself to you.”

“No, you don't.” He moved to the side, making it clear she was free to move past him. “But you should sort it out with yourself, before you go any further. Before you get him sucked in deeper.”

She was suddenly exhausted. “Fine, Bull. I'll go ahead and do that.” She started up the stairs.

“You know, Grim is a real person.”

She halted. “Well, that could be awkward.”

“He's a man.”

“Right. Quite awkward, then.” She straightened her shoulders, made her way upstairs. “Good night, Bull.”

“Night, Boss.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. I can't not, I'm sorry.

The next day Juliet was filled with an unfamiliar confidence. She found herself unable to suppress an extra sway in her walk, a smile dancing in the corners of her eyes. She was energised, restless feet taking her from the undercroft to the gardens to the ramparts, looking into every detail. Today it felt like less of a chore. She flirted mercilessly with Commander Cullen, for once not disheartened when her attentions made him stammer in discomfort. She had been a symbol for so long now, more than a woman and somehow less. It felt good to remember.

She retired from an unusually productive war council meeting to take dinner alone in her quarters, only marginally deflated by Leliana’s soft touch on her arm as she left, her murmured, “Be careful, Inquisitor.”

Damn the woman, she had eyes everywhere. It didn’t matter. She knew how to be careful.

 

She pulled her scarf up around her chin, let her hair screen her face as she entered the tavern. She scanned the room and saw Tanner’s face brighten when he spotted her, waving her over to his table. She accepted a mug of ale and settled in next to him, comfortably silent amid the rough soldiers’ banter. His sandy hair was freshly washed, a glow on his cheeks from the ale and the warmth of the fire, his blue eyes lively. She tried not to stare.

“Tanner says you’re one of the Bull’s Chargers.” A young woman, Orlesian like most of them, wide-eyed. “What is he like to work under?” A whisper, loud enough to cut through the tavern noise. “Have you ever seen him naked?”

She choked on her ale and coughed, tears springing into her eyes. Tanner patted her back, rubbed a soothing circle. “You’ve made her blush!” he complained. He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, and she returned the smile, lightheaded with more than alcohol.

Mercifully, the conversation moved on. His hand on her back travelled up her spine, gathered the hair at the nape of her neck, slipped under her scarf to brush against her skin. She rested a hand on his thigh under the table, pressed her fingers lightly against his leg, asking a question. An answering pressure in the hand on her neck, his whispered words in her ear.

“Outside. I’ll meet you.”

 

The cool night air took some of the heat from her cheeks and calmed her galloping heart. She traced the rough stone wall with her fingers, hair shielding her face. She heard Tanner’s steps on the damp leaves before one hand slipped around her waist, the other drawing her hair back to place an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. She closed her eyes and tilted her head away, baring her skin further to the soft scrape of stubble, the warm slide of his mouth.

She turned and drew him into a kiss, walking backwards until they were hidden in the darkness behind the bushes. There he pushed her gently against the wall and kissed her deeply, his leg pressing between her thighs, a hand closing over the quilted fabric covering her breast. Frustrated, she tugged at her clothing, guided his hand under her jacket and the thin tunic beneath. His fingers were cool against the warmth of her stomach and a shiver ran through her.

He kissed her and withdrew, kissed again, teasing. His hand slid up to find her breastband and cup her properly, sliding the fabric over her nipple, fingers teasing as it hardened under his touch. He kept his hand there as he drew his head back and their eyes met, both of them breathing unsteadily.

“Grim.” He laughed softly. “Grim, Grim, Grim.” It was a nonsense name. She drew her shoulders back, leaning into his touch, and he slipped a second hand under her clothing to feel her other breast, drawing slow circles with his thumbs, eyes still on her face.

“Is this what you want?” Her answer was to grip the back of his neck and pull him close for another hungry kiss, her free hand reaching between them to stroke the coarse fabric of his trousers, tracing the hard outline of his erection. He groaned, his thigh pressing against her, causing a rush of dampness between her legs. She worked frantically at the laces of his trousers, slid a hand inside his smallclothes and took his length in her fingers, felt him pulse beneath her palm. His breath was rough now, erratic.

His brow furrowed in concern even as he loosened her own laces, hooked his thumbs in her waistband. “Are you sure you want this? Here, like this?”

He wouldn’t understand why she laughed. This was the shape of all her youthful encounters, furtive couplings in dark corners against uncomfortable masonry, privacy more hoped for than guaranteed. She nodded, leaned up to kiss his neck, draw his skin lightly between her teeth and release it. She breathed him in, his heat, his clean, masculine smell.

His fingers explored beneath her waistband, stroking the rough curls there before slipping into the warm wetness below. She tightened her fingers around his cock, unable to wait any longer. With a soft moan he withdrew his hand, pulled her trousers and smallclothes down until they were bunched around her calves. For the first time she missed her Circle robes. They had been impractical for so many things but undeniably convenient for others. He stepped into the circle of her legs, freed his cock from his clothing and guided the tip against her. His hands moved to support her thighs, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she angled her hips towards his as he pushed inside her.

She breathed a sob of relief against his chest as he filled her, the tingling need in her thighs and belly building to a throbbing warmth with each careful thrust. She wrapped her arms around him, felt his face buried in her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. The stone wall was cold and irregular against her back, her legs shaking, and he gripped her and lifted her, pulling her hips against him to thrust deeper. Their breath sounded too loud in the night air and she pulled his face into her shoulder, muffling her own small cries against his chest, grateful for the noise spilling from the tavern. She came with a shudder, clutching wildly at his shoulders, and a second time, less forceful, before he bucked against her. Two more slow thrusts then he withdrew, hot warmth spilling on her thighs. "Fuck," he murmured.

They were frozen that way for a moment, faces pressed against each other’s necks, the taste of sweat on their lips, unsteady breath slowly returning to normal. Then the spell was broken and they untangled, reached for their clothing, shifting rumpled fabric and refastening ties.

He kissed the top of her head. “Are you coming back inside?” She smiled and shook her head. “And I suppose I can’t walk you to bed.” Another shake. “Tomorrow?” She nodded, turned to go but Tanner grabbed her wrist lightly, traced a small circle with his thumb. “Say it.”

Juliet - Grim - spoke, her voice again hoarse. “Tomorrow.”

If anyone spied tonight, they stayed mercifully hidden as she made her way back to the Inquisitor’s quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

“Please get some rest. The Inquisition needs you at your best.” The injured soldier’s face was still tense with pain, but there was relief in his smile as Juliet straightened to take her leave. They must hurry to get the infirmary built, it wouldn’t do to have the wounded lying about in the open like this.

She froze as she saw the group of soldiers cross the yard, carrying weapons blunted for sparring. Tanner’s face beneath his helmet already so familiar to her, his eyes even bluer in the light of day. She stood straight, a knot of dread in her stomach, and tried to school her face into neutrality.

She needn’t have bothered. There was a muttered chorus of “Your Worship,” as they passed, eyes flickering to her and away, heads bowed respectfully.

She recalled Bull’s words. _It’s hard to be just an idea, sometimes. That’s all you are to most of them._ Tried to feel only relief, not the traitorous twinge of disappointment.

 

Once more in the Tavern, clothed as Grim. Tanner was there by the bar and he crossed to meet her, a ready smile on his face. Krem had also spied her from his usual chair in the corner. He raised a hand in greeting. “Your - “ she made a quick gesture, the tiny movement of her hand across her throat. He took in her clothing, the hair loose around her face. “ - Late. We’ve been here an hour.”

Bull slapped her on the shoulder, sent her staggering forward a step. “Grim. You joining us?” He glanced down at her companion. “Oh. Tanner, isn’t it? You kids have fun, then.” It was difficult to tell with only one eye, but he might have winked. Krem hid his expression behind his tankard.

Tanner rested his hand on her back and spoke low in her ear. “Well, it’s good to see you don’t talk any more to them than you do to me. I think.” He looked in her face, a smile in his eyes. “Do you want a drink?”

She shook her head. Too many close calls in one day, they needed to get away from all these people.

Outside he kissed her, ran his hands over her clothes with a sigh of regret. “I wish I could see you. All of you.”

There, she could help. She took him by the hand and led him away from the tavern, up a set of narrow stone steps. He followed without question.

 

They paused at the top of the ladder to catch their breath, removing boots and socks as they sat with their legs hanging. The rooftop was washed in pale light under the waxing moon, shielded from prying eyes by height and crenellated stone walls. There were plans to upgrade the tower but for now it stood empty, dilapidated but not unsafe, a perfect place to hide.

She spread a rug out and they stood, the stone cold beneath their bare feet. This time they undressed each other slowly, hands lingering, soft lips tracing bared skin. Before her breastband had drifted to the ground he had her cupped in his hands, testing her weight in his palms, warming her chilled skin as his mouth covered hers. The brush of his fingers on her nipple made the breath catch in her throat, a warm shock travelling straight to her groin. Her hands travelled his torso, lightly muscled, the body of a farmer and a soldier.

They knelt on the rug and he laid her down, hand resting at the back of her head to cushion her fall. He bent and pressed his lips against her thigh, her hip, traced kisses in a line from her belly to her throat before closing his lips over the peak of her breast, gently drawing her into his mouth. Cold as he withdrew, then warmth as he found her other breast, warm tongue tracing a circle around her nipple.

Her breaths were shallow now, desperate. She took his shoulders and drew him up to her face, a soft kiss, open-mouthed. He shifted his weight and guided himself inside her with a soft groan, and she raised her hips to meet him, sighed when his full length entered her. He rested back on his heels and wrapped her legs around him, drinking in the sight of her body in the moonlight, tracing her smooth curves with his hands, her soft cries driving him harder, deeper, slower.

Strong arms lifted her onto his lap, face-to-face, lips not quite touching, her nipples brushing his bare chest as she rocked against him. Her arms twined around his neck and he cupped her breasts again, rolling them under his hands. They matched each other's pace, his steady strokes aligning with the rhythm of her hips. One hand shifted to splay over her shoulder blades, driving her harder against him. She arched her back, felt his mouth on her breasts, his face finally buried between them as they both came, gasping, clutching at each other as if to keep their bodies from drifting away into the night sky. She felt him still warm inside her, her muscles twitching around his spent cock. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, his lips and tongue lingering on hers.

“Grim.”

That was her name, she didn't need another. She smiled, drew him back down to her chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

 

She could tell as soon as she saw him. He was stiff, unnatural, wouldn’t meet her eye. Instead of taking her outside he led her upstairs to a quiet corner, the table keeping a distance between them.

She was silent, not sure she could speak if she wanted to, something coiling in her gut and winding its way up and around her throat. Tanner’s eyes were fixed on the tankard before him. At last he cleared his throat, spoke softly.

“Funny story.” He turned the tankard in his hands. “I had some free time today. Heard the Chargers were drinking in the tavern. So I went to see if I could find you. Find Grim.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap.

“And I did. I found him.” She glanced up to find his eyes on her, darting away when they met hers.

“Do - “ Her voice was a croak. She tried again. “Do you…”

“I know.” There was no anger in his voice. It was flat, resigned. “The Qunari filled me in.”

She forced back the tears that threatened to choke her. Beneath the nausea there was only the dull ache of shame. “I didn’t mean…”

Again, “I know.” His fingers clenched around the tankard. He finally looked at her, his blue eyes heavy with sadness and something more, something like concern. He started to reach a hand towards her then drew back, rose from the table.

“Goodbye. Your Worship.” She heard the heavy tread of his boots on the stairs.

 

From the top of the stairs she watched the soldiers sparring, searched the faces for a pair of blue eyes.

“Boss.”

She didn’t look at him.

“He asked for a transfer.” Bull moved to stand beside her, his big hand resting on her shoulder.

“Where?”

“Cullen sent him to the Hinterlands.”

She was relieved, and ashamed at her relief. It was a safe posting, the region largely stabilised. But there were hundreds under her command and more by the day. Many of them were sent into danger, people she couldn’t put a name or a face to but no less worthy of her concern.

She closed her eyes. “Are you happy now?”

“No.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “He had to hear it from someone. Better someone who could explain why. Tell him it wasn’t a joke, or a bored noble girl looking for some rough. Someone who could help him understand the Inquisitor is a woman and not just a banner to rally behind.”

“But he still left.”

“Had to happen, boss. Too much for him to handle. Not the kid's fault, not yours. Maybe you should aim higher next time.”

She snorted. “How high, exactly? What am I, Inquisitor? Youngest child of a Bann? Apostate? Holy figure? What’s the rank that matches all of those things?”

He looked down at her, amused. “You could start with Commander.”

“Cullen?” She was incredulous and at the same time uncomfortably suspicious that he’d read her mind. “I’m not sure he even thinks I’m a person!”

“Keep working at it. I think you’ll be surprised.” He patted her on the head gently. "You could tell him about this, might help knock you off that pedestal."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I should tell him one of the soldiers under his command fucked the Herald of Andraste against the tavern wall?"

“Well, I might not put it like that." He smiled. "When you’ve got a moment you should come meet the Chargers. You owe Grim a drink.”

She swore under her breath as he strode away, whistling.

 


End file.
